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Yesterday I drove out to the country to visit my little sister. She lives about fifteen minutes off the interstate in a brick house surrounded by nothing but farmland. I can’t even see another house from where she lives. She and I got into my jeep and drove another half an hour into the country to visit our baby sister. God’s country, that’s what the old folks would call this little slice of untouched land located just a few miles over the Kentucky line. There really is nothing out there. Just a civil war era house, an old barn and quite a few animals.

I grew up on a horse farm in the country, not far from where my sisters lives now. Fields and woods and creeks and caves, we ran all over the place mostly unsupervised. So when my sisters asked me if I wanted to go horseback riding, I agreed. My youth never seemed as far away as it did after I climbed that ladder and got on that horse (yup). I was on a horse I didn’t know, in a place I didn’t know. The horse could sense that I was unsure and he responded by doing the opposite of everything that I asked of him.

I was able to stay on the horse long enough to take a few pictures with my sisters and start towards the empty field that led to the creek we were going to ride to. The horse was just not cooperating, and I don’t have health insurance. Also as a waitress you can’t work if you break or sprain any of your limbs. So I chose not to go. I watched my sisters ride off into the afternoon sun, both of their horses acting a little crazy, but handled by ladies that still live in the country.

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